


Erudition Part 3

by wargoddess



Series: The Templar Canticles [7]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickie, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A raid on a shop goes a little wrong, and Cullen is left... anxious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erudition Part 3

     But for the fact that it took place in a posh Hightown shop rather than a dank chokedamp den, the raid was tiresomely routine:  just the usual tipoff on the usual contraband items -- apostate grimoires, staves specialized for magical combat, off-market enchantments.  Cullen had authorized the raid more to protect the Kirkwall Circle's trade-rights -- for which he'd paid a handsome fee to the Merchant's Guild -- than any real attempt to inhibit apostasy.  (After all, he was willing to acknowledge at last, _some_ apostates had their uses.)  And Cullen had only come along himself because it was Hightown, and there were sure to be ruffled feathers somewhere.  With these sorts of things, there always were.

     All things considered, the raid had gone beautifully.  The senior knights swept in by twos, while recruits covered the exits, roof, and any possible points in Darktown which might be underneath the building.  Practically everyone in Kirkwall had an escape door into Darktown; Cullen suspected it had been considered fashionable at some point in the city's history.  They'd swept past the shop's rather standard interior over the vocal protests of its counter man, blocked off any fleeing shop patrons for questioning, burst through the hidden door that their informant had told them about, and found --

     -- well.  What they found were most certainly not _contraband_ items. 

     One whole wall, for example, had been devoted to false phalluses of varying size and shape and composition.  The handsomest among these was an exquisitely realistic member lacquered in mother-of-pearl, Cullen thought, with a completely unrealistic secondary protrusion whose purpose he did not _want_ to fathom.  The price on the placard beneath it was almost as scandalous as the thing itself.  Another wall held feathers.  Just feathers, he thought -- until he peered more closely and realized that several of them had buckles, or elaborate clamps dangling beneath on cords.  What were -- no.  He did not wish to know. 

     The third wall of the small room displayed the only things that might have qualified as enchanted.  Cullen peered closer when he saw some of them _hum_ , readying himself to throw a Cleanse -- and only belatedly did he realize that each of the humming little balls was mechanical in nature.  He picked up one attached to a long leather cord and examined it:  yes, there was a dwarven smithcaste-mark at its base, if he did not mistake his guess.  Then he wondered what the thing was for, and his imagination supplied a possible explanation, and he put it down very very quickly.

     These items, however, were nothing compared to the displays on mannequins or plinths at the room's center.  Every knight in the room was staring at one plinth in particular, so Cullen pushed through them to see if there might at least be some magic here.  He realized he had stood still, gaping openmouthed at the, the -- what _was_ that? -- the _contraption_ , only after one of the Knight Lieutenants murmured his name three times.  "Ser," she said, while Cullen tried hard to focus on her and not the... dear Maker, how did one put such a thing _on_?  He tore his eyes away from it and faced the lieutenant's helmet, wishing he'd worn his own.  "The proprietress of the shop would like most urgently to speak with you."

     Yes.  Of course she did.

#

     In the interests of reducing the scale of the debacle, Cullen had dismissed the raid squadron and dispatched all but a pair of the seniormost knights back to the Gallows.  These two were in the shop's innocuous anteroom, performing the unenviable task of apologizing to angry shop-patrons who'd been detained in the raid.  Cullen had the least enviable among these tasks, however:  he had to apologize to the shop's owner.  And to his great dismay, she insisted upon hearing his apology in the back room, amid the... things.

     "You must understand," he said to the woman, trying his level best not to notice the _thing_ on the mannequin behind her.  "Malevolent enchantment can be dangerous, particularly if blood magic is invovled.  We must be vigilant against the possibility -- "

     "Oh, I certainly understand that," said the woman, who smiled gently as if to emphasize her unlikely name:  Lady Elegant.  She would not have looked out of place amid the most fashionable salons of the mansion district, and given the prices she was charging on some of her merchandise, she might very well be able to afford _several_ mansions.  "I can only commend you for your diligence, Knight Commander."

     "Yes.  Thank you.  And I apologize -- profusely -- again."  Cullen grimaced, trying not to fidget.  "The person who reported your shop was, as I understand it, a lay brother of the Chantry before its destruction.  I imagine he simply hasn't seen many of -- "  He glanced over at the vibrating things on the wall.  " -- er, those, and concluded that what he saw was magic."

     "Well."  Lady Elegant did an admirable job of looking pleasantly amused.  She folded her hands.  "One cannot fault ignorance, I suppose, though I certainly wish this person had _asked_ about the devices before deciding they were... demonic. I would have assured him that the things I sell are wholly in line with Chantry doctrine."

     Cullen must have looked as disbelieving as he felt, because she covered her mouth with one hand and laughed -- once, politely.  "Forgive me," he said, awkwardly.  "It is only... I do not see how they could be."

     "Why, they are marital aids.  Among other things."  Elegant turned to gesture toward one of the more elaborate phalluses nearby, this one of polished mahogany and graced with a fingergrip handle of tooled leather.  "I sold one like that to a lady last month.  Her husband is very busy, with a job that leaves him physically weary, and they have a young child; between her schedule and his, they barely have time to see one another.  However, she has recovered from childbed with -- shall we say, a renewed appetite for romance?  So:  should she cuckold him with some more idle man, and reward his hard work with heartbreak?  No.  Instead she gifted him with the means to keep her happy, even when he is too tired for anything more strenuous."

     "She gifted -- "  Cullen flushed.  "I, well I suppose, yes, that is -- "

     "And this."  Elegant turned and went to the _contraption_ , gesturing for Cullen to follow without looking to see if he did.  Uncomfortably, Cullen obeyed.  "One of the women who bought this -- "  He flinched.  "Ah, yes, it is for a woman, notice the protrusions here -- "

     "Madam," he said, his voice strained.  She glanced at him with such a contained look that he began to feel certain that she was hysterical with laughter behind the mask of her face. 

     "We have a variation on this for men to wear as well," she continued smoothly, "for those occasions when a man would rather not pause the -- enjoyment? -- while he recovers from an earlier bout.  But the one I most recently sold is for a woman whose husband enjoys the sorts of activities that come more naturally _between men_.  Do you see?"

     Which forced Cullen to look closely at the thing.  When he did, and tried to envision a woman wearing it, abruptly he understood.  Oh.  _Oh._   So with this, a woman could -- oh.  And the little protrusions would also, as she worked against another body -- _ohhhh_.

     "You see."  Elegant smiled peaceably.  "He genuinely loves her, but he also genuinely enjoys being pleasured in this manner.  Now she can give him what he craves, and enjoy herself in the process -- and now neither of them need resort to gentlemen at the Rose."

     And, as if Elegant's words had been a summoning of sorts, an image smote Cullen's memory:  Carver, groaning and shuddering as Adriano -- a gentleman at the Rose, as the lady said it -- drove hard against his backside.  At the time Cullen had not known that particular delicacy himself; Carver had introduced him to it only later, after they'd become regular lovers.  But knowing now how delightful it could be, would he ever wish to have that pleasure from another, if Carver for some reason could not provide? 

     No.  No, he would _not_.  Thinking that, Cullen could not help looking at the phalluses with new respect.

     "I do see," he said at last, still looking away from the _contraption_ because -- well.  "But Lady Elegant, I must ask -- if you truly believe that what you sell is unworthy of shame, then why is this chamber so cleverly hidden away?  Surely you could have simply put it behind a curtain to keep out the impressionable or easily-affronted.  A _hidden_ door?  You cannot blame people for being suspicious when you behave in a suspicious manner."

     "Why, Knight Commander."  Elegant's smile was wry now.  "I'm surprised at you.  I know the Chantry would have us think all Templars chaste, but you strike me as the sort of man who appreciates the senses, beneath his... _pragmatic_ exterior."

     Cullen blushed a little, hoping the woman was not flirting with him.  He had never been good at dealing with that, which was perhaps why Carver had never bothered.  "To a degree, yes."

     "You have a lover?  Or two, or three?  It's the quiet ones who so often have hidden depths."

     He blushed more.  " _A_ lover, yes."

     She laughed, her voice low and rich, and then she stepped closer, much to his unease.  Yet he could not step away; that would be rude, and besides he might bump into one of the plinths.  The contraptions were unnerving enough as it was, but Maker forfend if he should _break_ one and end up having to buy it in recompense.

     "Well, think back, then," said Elegant, her voice low and warm.  "To those first days, when you _wanted_ and shamed yourself with the strength of that want.  Those first nights, when you thought of the one you fancied and... imagined.  And then, after so much wanting, that first touch.  The one which told you that _you_ were wanted, in turn."

     And, not quite unwillingly, Cullen did think back.  It had not gone quite as she seemed to think:  Cullen had been only dimly aware of his growing attraction to Carver in those early days.  He had watched Adriano rut upon Carver and wished, without ever admitting so to himself, to be the one making Carver tremble and moan instead; he had touched himself in the small hours to ease stress, and only belatedly realized that the fingers he imagined were not his own.

     But then Carver had touched him.  Such a slow, sly thing, Cullen reflected, remembering the night it had happened.  Cullen had hardly even realized he was being seduced, at first.

     "Perhaps it was a tentative thing."  Elegant shrugged, glancing over at a nearby display counter.  She put her hand on it, very near to -- but not touching -- a handsome if simple phallus of carved soapstone.  A low-end model, perhaps.  "Just a lingering glance of the eyes, or a glancing caress.  Or perhaps it was a firestorm of unleashed desire.  Mouth on skin.  Hands _everywhere_."  She touched the phallus now, wrapping her fingers around it with a firmness that belied her demure manner; Cullen saw her touch a tongue to her lips, her gaze and thoughts far away.  "Perhaps you found yourself breathless and spent and confused in the aftermath, unsure what had happened, but knowing only that you wanted _more_."

     Yes.  After that first time as he'd sat shivering in the aftermath, he _had_ wanted more.  More of Carver's lips just brushing his neck; the sensation had startled Cullen at first, but it had not been unwelcome.  Not at all.  Nor had he disliked the slide of Carver's hands beneath his shirt, or the curl and stroke of Carver's fingers around his cock, as confident as Elegant's.  Or dear Maker, Carver's _mouth_ , hot and wet and skillful as he suckled and licked and _swallowed_ \--

     At Cullen's inadvertent intake of breath, Lady Elegant's eyes slid sidelong toward him.  "What we sell here," she said, "are not merely _toys_.  These are useless on their own.  Paperweights."  She picked up the soapstone phallus and dropped it back into its place; Cullen flinched at the loud thunk.  "What we sell is _desire itself_.  Its continuation, when age or familiarity causes it to flag; its improvement, when lovers reach a certain level of trust.  Desire is as important to any healthy relationship as... practicalities." 

     With a final gentle pat to the phallus, she turned back to him, all business again.  "Desire does not sit behind a curtain, Knight Commander, politely waiting to be noticed.  Or if it hides, it breathes loudly and groans now and again; it stirs the hangings, demanding your attention, until you go seeking after it.  The act of seeking stokes it further.  And _that_ is why this room is hidden."

     Cullen swallowed, then drew a deep breath, hoping to clear his thoughts -- for all of a sudden his smalls beneath the armor had become distinctly uncomfortable, chafing where the heavy gambeson rested against his body.  "I... see," he said, praying that his discomfort was not discernible.  "Well, at least now we know of your shop's, er, peculiarities, and you may be assured that we will trouble you no further."

     Elegant laughed and gave him a knowing look, reaching out to pat the breastplate of his armor; he flinched again.  "Unless we actually _do_ start using demonic devices, of course!  But I can assure you, that will never happen.  Imagination makes its own magic."  She winked as she then moved past him, letting her fingers trail away from the engraved metal almost reluctantly.  For the most fleeting of instants Cullen leaned after those fingers, the skin of his chest beneath the layers of robes and armor tingling. 

     But it was not _her_ fingers that he craved.

     He forced his mind back to duty as Elegant went to the hidden room's door, politely waiting for him.  "Ah," he said, more gruffly than necessary; he went through the door and turned back to incline his head to her.  "Well.  May the Maker watch over you, my lady."

     "And you, Knight Commander.  Your love, as well."  He blinked in surprise, but she was gone, back into the room, perhaps to toy further with her own memories.

#

     By the time he returned to the Gallows, Cullen knew he was in trouble.

     He could not keep his mind focused, and that infuriated him.  He was Knight Commander of the Kirkwall Circle, for Andraste's sake.  He had mastered every skill of Templar and Reaver and warrior, and stood down evil magic of every kind -- and yet he _could not_ stop thinking about --

     _Carver on his knees before Cullen's desk chair, Cullen's robes hiked up and his trousers yanked down and his cock gone, vanished into the hot wet cavern of the man's mouth_

     Maker and Bride.  And the walk back from Elegant's shop had done nothing to help physical matters, for he was hard as stones within his trousers.  The fabric of his own smalls slid and stroked with every movement, making him think of a rough, callused touch, and no matter how he tried to think of paperwork or meetings or any of the other ten thousand mundanities that awaited him, the condition would not seem to fade.  But he gritted his teeth and bore the torment anyhow, because he would _not_ be ruled by mere flesh.  Not even his own.

     But Cullen had to steel himself anew as he and the two lieutenants walked up from the ferry, and Carver emerged from the courtyard shadows to walk with him.

     "Knight Commander," he said, his voice all formality since they were on duty.  And yet even as he said it, Cullen shivered at the undertone of warmth he could hear in Carver's voice, and the gentle half-smile that curved his lips for just a moment before he resumed his usual soldier's mask.  He turned to walk with them.  "I hear the raid went pear-shaped."

     Maker, Carver's mouth was gorgeous.

     No.  There was _work_ to be done.

     "Not so badly," Cullen replied, making an effort to _think_ about his words and not Carver's voice or the lovely tongue that had uttered them.  "There was certainly no magic involved, however.  The proprietor probably won't sue."

     Carver laughed, oblivious as the sound made Cullen's cock ache dully.  "I suppose that's a good thing."  Then he glanced at Cullen, oddly.  "Everything all right?" 

     His eyes flicked briefly toward the two lieutenants, so Cullen heard what he did not say.  _Are you all right?_

     _I would be fine if I could take you back to our quarters and have you against the wall for half an hour --_  

     But Cullen ground his teeth and forced this thought away as unworthy and shameful.  He was no callow youth, to demand pleasure without regard for responsibility!  And Carver was not his to _use_ like that --

     "All is well," he made himself say.  "But I think I shall take an early lunch today.  As you were."

     "Ser."  Carver pressed a fist to his chest and stopped, bowing; Cullen returned the salute, as did the lieutenants.  Then Carver left, and Cullen dismissed the lieutenants, and he did his damnedest not to quicken his pace as he headed toward the Knight Commander's suite.

     He was shaking as he unlocked the door, fumbling the key so badly that he dropped it twice.  Then he was inside, and the door was safely latched behind him, and he was pulling off his gauntlets and yanking at the straps of his armor as he crossed the room.  It was too hot in here.  Why was it so Maker-blessed hot?  He should call one of the Tranquil, ask them to bank the fire, make them open the windows --  And then he was in the bathchamber, grabbing the basin of water that the Tranquil had left from their morning cleaning, and crouching over the wash-area drain as he poured it cold over his head.

     The shock helped.  As he set the basin down, gasping, he felt a little more in control of himself.  His hands shook less as he pushed himself up, shivering as a stray droplet or two ran down his neck and into his armor.  Yes, that was better.  A Templar's strength relied on a strong will, after all, and

     _And Carver_ was _strong, so beautifully strong; Cullen could always feel that in his fingers when they ran down Cullen's neck.  He touched Cullen so gently with those fingers, even though Cullen had seen him break an abomination's neck with his bare hands.  Even better to feel that marvelous strength on his hips, holding him tightly in place as Carver panted against the back of his neck --_

     "Bloody Maker," Cullen groaned. 

     And gave in.

     He stood and yanked his tassets loose; they were meant to hold a Templar's robes in place and maintain a pleasing line to the way the cloth fell, but now they just added to his torment.  Even as they fell to the floor he was rucking aside the robes and the chain and jerking at the laces of his trousers; demons and flames, why did he have to wear so many layers?  Then his pants were loose, and he almost tore the strap of his smalls getting them aside, and finally his cock was free and he gripped it with both hands, moaning aloud and letting his eyes flutter shut for the sheer relief of contact.  Except it hurt, too; he was so hard.  A sound impinged on his consciousness and he ignored it; it was irrelevant; he could not think.  He gripped the base of his cock with one hand and stroked feverishly with the other, panting raggedly as he did so, not even trying for pleasure, just wanting it _done_...

     Then, belatedly, he realized someone was there.  Startled, he opened his eyes just as Carver propped a hand against the wall beside his head.  At Cullen's gasp, he smiled, but this was an edged thing, sharp and hot and hungry as flames.

     "Ca -- " he began, and immediately Carver leaned in and kissed him silent, tongue darting in to press his own tongue still.  In the same moment Cullen felt his own hands pushed aside, replaced by a hard, familiar grip that immediately set to work, pumping and tugging and pressing in all the right places.  It was magnificent, exquisite, everything he needed, and far too quickly Cullen felt the hard pulse of warning in his groin.  "Mmmh!"

     But Carver only chuckled, releasing neither his mouth nor his cock, and only a breath later Cullen shuddered apart and keened through his nose as he spilled in hot gouts over Carver's fingers.  It hadn't even felt good; he was just so desperately glad for the release that he groaned anyhow.

     Carver licked free of his mouth at last, which let Cullen flop his head back against the wall while he panted to catch his breath.  Carver's hand kept working, idle rather than urgent now, using the slickness of Cullen's own seed to make his caresses a soothing glide, but Cullen could only shiver with it, spent.  His mind had gone still at last, the torturous thoughts faded as with the breaking of a fever.  Now, however, a sense of shame crept into the fever's wake.  He had never lost control of himself so fully, never been so selfish.  He hadn't even _touched_ Carver.

     But as Cullen tried to muster enough presence of mind to manage a decent apology, Carver was looking around the bathroom, hunting for something.  All at once he brightened and leaned away -- never once taking his hand off Cullen -- and came back with one of the lanterns, unlit since it was daytime.  He peered into it, grinned fiercely, and tipped it to pour the dollop of oil in its reservoir into his hand.

     "Carver," Cullen began, but then Carver pulled him away from the wall and turned him around to face it -- still not letting go of his cock.

     "Think I don't know that look on your face, by now?"  Carver pressed against him, breathing hard into his ear.  Cullen felt him shifting, heard the clank and thrup of armor not his own being removed or adjusted.  Then Carver pushed at Cullen's trousers and smalls, moving them down and caressing his buttocks.  "Think I didn't see the way you were walking?  You can hide it from the rank and file, but not _me_."

     Was Carver -- ?  Did he mean to -- ?  Oh, _Maker_.  Cullen shuddered and pressed his hands against the wall so they would not shake.  An image came to his mind with such speed and force that he was left breathless:  the contraption from Elegant's shop.  _For occasions when a man would rather not pause the enjoyment._   Carver had no need of such prosthetics, however; Cullen could feel the hard, heavy lump of him pressed against Cullen's backside.  No need to pause; they could simply take turns.

     Carver kicked Cullen's ankles to make him spread his legs and an instant later he was pushing into Cullen, hard and ruthless and _perfect_ , making a little sound of strain as he worked his way deeper.  Cullen shuddered all over and tried to say _That is marvelous_ but instead he just sort of groaned out half-chewed syllables.

     "And I know _you_ ," Carver said into his ear, once he was fully seated.  Cullen felt lips brush the edge of his hair; he could hear the little hitch in Carver's breath that meant he would not last long.  "You play all control and gentility and -- " His hips rocked, as if against his will, and they both groaned.  " -- ah _fuck_ , Cullen!  Nnh.  Y-you like to think you're not..."  Cullen heard him lick his lips.  "Not human.  You think you can't ever _want_ so much that you can't think, can't be polite, can't f-fucking _demand_..." 

     He began working his hips again, more controlled this time, and Cullen gasped as his whole body shook all over, for Carver was deliberately stroking him _there_.  And -- Maker's Breath!  Cullen's cock began to stir, even with the tingles of the last orgasm still in his blood.  Carver's hand had never stopped working on him; they both felt the change, and Carver laughed a little, sounding reckless and wild.  "Oh, Maker, no more fucking words." 

     Then he grabbed Cullen's hand on the wall and dragged it down, making Cullen take care of his own cock; when Cullen groaned and obediently stroked himself Carver gripped his shoulder to hold him in place.

     And then he _fucked_ Cullen, so hard that Cullen's armor rattled with every jolt and he had to press his cheek to the stone to keep himself from bashing his face against it.  He closed his eyes, lost in it, the slap of flesh echoing from the bathchamber walls, the steady burn and friction like a slow-building flame within him.  Carver's harsh breathing growing harsher, the only sound in the room -- until Carver abruptly lost his rhythm and half-crushed Cullen against the wall and uttered a low sob that made both of them shudder.

     A breath later Carver fell to his knees, slipping out of Cullen and turning him around again and this time Cullen had to bring his free hand to his mouth, biting down on the heel of his palm to stop himself from shouting as raw wet heat enclosed his cock.  Carver was breathless, sloppy, more careless than usual as he pulled at Cullen's hips with shaking hands; Cullen felt his teeth and did not care, felt himself half-swallowed and did not marvel.  He threaded his fingers through Carver's hair and remembered that first time

     _a firestorm of unleashed desire mouth on skin hands everywhere_

     Carver had done this for him, to him, devouring him so thoroughly that Cullen had not known himself consumed until many months later.  And then Cullen had sought him

     _desire does not sit behind a curtain waiting to be noticed_

     and _demanded_ him and, and it had been not unfair at all, not wrong, just an acknowledgement of what already existed between them, an extension of the trust already built

     _there was fire pooling in Cullen's guts, tingling up from his toes, making him arch backward and press the back of his head hard against the stone_

     "Carver," he moaned, hips buckling with each wet suckling smack.  "Carver."

     _which meant that Carver was right.  Elegant was right.  Love was not meant to be a thing of politeness, kept neatly within proscribed lines and schedules.  Desire was not a thing of mere flesh; it transcended the body's form and limitations, and would last long past youthful passion.  No one else could make Cullen feel like this, no matter the tools, no matter the skill.  Only Carver.  And there was no shame_

     He was screaming, his whole body bowing as his hips stuttered and thrust of their own volition, and Carver went _mmmm_ and cupped his ass in both hands as if to feel the strength of him.

     _in any of it.  Not in his wanting, not in his "weakness" that was nothing weak at all, not even in hedonism itself.  For he did not desire this pleasure _just_ for himself, after all.  It only felt so good because it was shared._

     This time the orgasm let Cullen go only reluctantly.  He shook with it for what felt like hours, forgetting to breathe and then gasping for air and forgetting again while his whole body throbbed, until his mind reverberated into silence.

     Carver slurped free of him slowly, though he kept a grip on Cullen's cock and licked at its tip now and again, almost hopefully.  If he meant to get more out of Cullen, Cullen thought weakly, he was in for disappointment. 

     Ah.  But if Cullen had had one of those _contraptions_... well.  He could not help smiling as he reached down to stroke Carver's hair.  "I love you," he said.

     Carver's eyes widened, just a little -- but he laughed and said, "That good, was it?"

     Yes.  Though that was not the point.  Cullen shook his head and slumped against the wall, smiling to himself and continuing to stroke Carver's hair.  After a moment Carver got to his feet and leaned against him, just holding him close now.  It was not an easy thing to cuddle while clad in full plate armor.  Still, Carver seemed to manage it, deftly avoiding the sharper edges of Cullen's pauldrons as he rested his chin on Cullen's shoulder.  "I think lunch is over," he said.  "We're both late back on shift."

     "Hn."  Letting his eyes drift shut, Cullen felt for Carver's hand and lifted it to his mouth, pressing loose fingers to his lips.  "Terrible role modeling, that."

     "Yeah.  Recruits might get the wrong idea.  Can't make a habit of it."

     Cullen laughed.  "Maker, no, we can't.  I'm going to be useless for any decent work for the rest of the day."

     Carver's breath came in a soft puff against his neck.  He said nothing more for a moment, and then: "You're so fucking amazing, Cullen.  Just so... _much_..."  He sighed.  "I hate words."

     "Yes."  Cullen made a Warden's effort and opened his eyes, nuzzling Carver's ear.  "On our next restday, will you go somewhere with me?"

     "Anywhere."

     "So pliant after a bit of lunchtime delight?  I must remember to make love to you before the next time I give an order you won't like."

     "Fuck me like you just did and I won't even give you dirty looks."  Carver's fingers grazed Cullen's bare hip; only belatedly did it occur to Cullen how ridiculous they must look, robes all askew and armored to the teeth except around the crotch and hips.  Well, there was no one to see.  "Where?"

     Cullen slid an arm around him, pulling him as close as he could in a rattle and scrape of metal.  "A shop," he said, kissing Carver's neck.  "Here in Hightown.  The place we raided today."

     Carver pulled away from Cullen to peer into his face with a bemused expression.  "Something tells me that raid was a lot more interesting than it sounded."

     The rumor mill was already churning, and likely Carver would hear all about the raid within five minutes of returning to his shift.  But Cullen only said, "It was.  I ask only that you keep an open mind."

     Carver lifted an eyebrow.  "Oh, now I can't _wait_."  But he stroked Cullen's lips with his fingers, and his wry look softened.  "I meant it, though.  Anywhere you want to take me, I'll go.  You know that, right?"

     Cullen's throat tightened; he had to clear it and take a deep breath before speaking, which made his voice sound gruff.  "I do know."

     "Right."  And then an awkward silence fell -- but it could not stay awkward for long.  It simply felt too good to be with Carver like this:  quiet, warm, close. 

     Still, they both had duties.  After a time Cullen patted Carver's chest and they reluctantly separated, replaced their armor and made a weak attempt at composing themselves.  They parted ways in the empty corridor, Carver touching fist to chest in a very private salute before heading back to courtyard.  As Cullen walked to his office, he caught knowing looks from a few of the sharper-eyed denizens of the Gallows, and heard a titter of laughter or two behind his back.  No doubt the rumor mill combined with his extended lunch would soon have Cullen so inflamed by Elegant's shop that he'd promptly bent his Knight Captain over a desk.  They always got the gist of it right, if not the particulars.

     But Cullen did not care.  He smiled at an apprentice who'd been staring, and the youth blushed and quickly looked away.  Let them talk; let them notice his loose-limbed walk or Carver's inevitable whistling; let them envy.  His desire was perhaps not as hidden a thing as he would have liked, but they would never know the fullness of it:  that was for Carver alone.  And soon, perhaps, he and Carver would have _more_ hidden pleasures to share.

     Smiling to himself in the most private way, Cullen went quietly into his office, and closed the door.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't tell, I wrote this during several lunch hours of the past week. And yes, we're back to porn. Blame my boss.


End file.
